As the first crown finishes its dance, a second ring of twelve souls forms around it, matching it — two rainbows inside each other, motion and song doubling in intensity. The doubling is the visual and musical argument: wisdom and holiness are not exhausted by any single tradition; they multiply and respond to each other.
A voice from the new ring speaks: Bonaventure, the Franciscan theologian and Cardinal, who mirrors Aquinas's gesture exactly. Where the Dominican praised Francis, the Franciscan praises Dominic. Dominic of Castile was born, Bonaventure says, in a garden of the faith — Caleruega in Spain — and came into the world already given to his purpose: his mother dreamed of a black-and-white dog carrying a torch (the Dominican habit's colors, the torch of preaching). He entered the Church as a servant of servants; he fought for the faith against heresy, not with swords but with words and charity. Dominic is the great champion of apostolic poverty and orthodox preaching — a river that fed the garden of Christianity when it had grown parched.
Bonaventure then names the members of his own crown: Illuminato and Augustine (two early Franciscan companions), Hugh of St. Victor, Peter Comestor, Peter of Spain, Nathan the prophet, John Chrysostom, Anselm of Canterbury, Aelius Donatus the grammarian, Rabanus Maurus, and — again, surprisingly — Joachim of Fiore, the mystical prophet whose ideas the mainstream Church regarded with suspicion. Heaven is more capacious than any school.